


Tin Man

by brightbulbs



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, Slurs, Substance Abuse, Underage Sex, arophobic attitudes, demiromantic!Mickey, references to domestic violence / abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-06
Updated: 2015-09-06
Packaged: 2018-04-19 11:06:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4744028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brightbulbs/pseuds/brightbulbs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Mickey doesn’t “like like” anyone... Mickey is mean. Mickey doesn't have a heart."</p><p>Mickey Milkovich doesn't experience romantic attraction until he's in too deep with Ian Gallagher. This story is about aromantic spectrum Mickey, and how that impacts everything he feels from his interactions with peers to the way he expresses affection with Ian.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tin Man

**Author's Note:**

  * For [peeves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/peeves/gifts).



> Hmn. This story might seem confusing, especially at first and especially for someone who is not aromantic spectrum. I am, so if you have any questions feel free to ask me. It's split into two parts / maybe three parts depending. One is before he meets Ian, and the other one or two chapters will be after.

Melissa “like likes” Kareem. He can tell by the way they look at each other when they pass notes behind the teacher’s back. Melissa looks at Kareem like he’s an answer to her pre-teen prayers and Kareem looks at her like she’s made of gold. Their growing infatuation with one another is becoming one of the most scandalous and talked about things in the sixth grade. Soon everyone is buzzing on about the pounding in their hearts and the twinkles in their eyes that they get around “the one.” Their “destiny,” or whatever cheesy bullshit young hearts like to believe in.

The girls circle and dot M.A.S.H. charts at the lunch table, and the boys practice sleazy pick-up lines their teenage brothers taught them. Mickey grows up with four older brothers who love to smoke weed and talk about banging chicks. He knows the best pick-up lines. The ones that’ll get a girl that hates herself just enough to not care how degrading they are, and the ones that’ll get him slapped. Kareem nudges him in the shoulder when Mickey’s lost in thought, and asks “so who do you like, Milkovich? Like, “like like” ya know?” It’s weird because they’re not really friends. None of these people are really friends.

“Fuck, who gives a shit. Let me eat my food,” he replies. The boys at his table shrug and go back to joking about the size of Ms. Dixon’s ass, and shoving French fries into their mouths quickly so they don’t miss out on recess.

Mickey knows what he likes, but he doesn’t know who he “like likes.” Mickey likes to draw crude pictures of dicks and stud bracelet fists and vulgar phrases in big spikey letters in his notebook while tuning out grammar lessons. Mickey likes the rush of power he gets when he intimidates some over-privileged loser out of their lunch money. Mickey likes his mom’s potato dumplings, and having a full belly. Mickey likes when his dad shuts the fuck up and passes the fuck out so he can finally sleep.     

Mickey doesn’t “like like” anyone, which makes it all the more surprising when someone “like likes” him. Laci leaves a folded up piece of paper on his desk covered in hearts scribbled in with colored pencil, before lining up for Gym class. She skips to the back of the line with her hands behind her back, joining her friends and giggling. Mickey stares at the paper blankly, crumples it in his hand and tosses it out in the trash as he joins the moving line. Laci blushes, embarrassed and humiliated. Her friends look back at him in shock and he returns their looks with the same blank expression he gave that piece of paper.

Mickey Milkovich is mean. Mickey Milkovich doesn’t have a heart. That’s what they say, but some girls like bad boys and some girls think they can turn them around so he’s a magnet for these types. He tries to be as off-putting and offensive as possible, which shouldn’t require much but his ugly mug he thinks. Each time they come around he gives them that same blank look, not knowing his unreadable expression makes him all the more mysterious and intriguing. It’s a look people will constantly be trying to decipher, trying to figure out if that dirty angry ugly boy actually has a heart underneath it all.

He knows it’s there. It pounds to the beat of Terry’s feet stomping on the floorboards when he’s drunk. It pounds to the beat of his mother sobbing over bills at the dinner table when she thinks no one else is around …but it doesn’t fucking flutter with the way Melissa’s does when she sees Kareem, and it doesn’t fucking ache the way Laci’s does when her note gets crumbled. It’s a quiet comfort that his heart doesn’t scream for another like that, but at the same time he feels so alone.

* * *

 

Mandy’s first boyfriend dumps her when she’s twelve, and boy did her heart scream for him like young hearts often do. They dated for a total of three days, Mickey thinks, maybe four, before Mandy finds him hand in hand with another girl at the mall. The mall Mickey was dragged to because Mandy’s only twelve. When Terry found out Mandy went to a party unsupervised with older kids hanging around his princess, it was Mickey’s ass that got kicked for not being there. Not Iggy’s or Colin’s or Jaimie’s or Tony’s. His, because he was around and Terry needed someone to pick on. Any other day he doesn’t give a shit what Mandy does, but Mickey didn’t want to take the chance in reliving that nightmare.

Mandy locks herself in her bedroom and cries, too-thick glopped on black mascara leaking down her face. Her best friends Alexa and Jordan come over to listen to her whine in between sobs, rubbing her shoulders and affirming she’s ten times better than that slut face at the mall. The door to Mandy’s room is cracked open just a bit when Mickey walks out of his across the hall to get a soda from the fridge. Alexa peers through the opening, daring to give him a passing glance with a tight lipped smile and a blush creeping up into her cheeks which Mandy remains oblivious to with her head still in her hands and her chest heaving and breath shuddering. Jordan notices and slaps her arm, mouthing an “eww.” 

Mickey stalks back to his room shaking his head and slamming his bedroom door shut; the “stay the fuck out” sign duct-taped to his door sending a clear message to anyone wanting to enter there. Sighing, he strips down to his boxers and lays down on his back, getting comfortable. His hand plays with the waist band of his boxers tentatively. Boys touch themselves. He knows that. Boys don’t touch themselves thinking about other boys though. His mind flashes back to the half-naked pictures of male models decorating the store fronts of some preppy ass shops.

His hands dip into his boxers. He feels nauseous, gulping back an anxious feeling bubbling up in his throat and he gets goosebumps along his neck and shoulders. He forces the feeling down, closing his eyes and willing himself to think about those rock solid bodies, all rigid lines and angles, musk and sweat. His breathing becomes more and more rapid, and soon he arches off the mattress with a silent “oh!” It takes a moment for him to come down, his tired hand resting on his belly.

* * *

 

He fucks girls a few times. The first time it happens, he puts on a shit eating grin when he gets home and his brothers punch his shoulder and pass him a beer. They tell him he’s a man now. Really, he’s seen enough porn to know how to fuck a girl. Technically. It doesn’t feel as earth-shattering as his brothers make it seem. It’s boring, and he remembers just wanting it to end. He feels like muttering an apology to her when it’s over but remains quiet, throwing on his clothes and leaving as soon as possible.

What Mickey wants is to get fucked. He’s seen enough porn to know how to get fucked too. It’s so contrary to who he is, and he hates how much he wants to lay back like those girls he manages to get on their backs do. To have someone push him down into the mattress or against a brick wall, and pound into him mercilessly while digging their fingers into his hips, taking over him. To hook his thighs around muscled legs and come undone and be pieced back together with someone inside him. 

That’s it. That’s all he wants.

He spends too much time in the shower while everyone is asleep, circling his fingers around his hole before slipping them inside of himself when the muscle gives way just enough. He hopes the spray of the showerhead is loud enough to cover up the gasps he’s emitting. This is how he wants to feel, full up, but his fingers aren’t enough and he finds himself wanting more than that. Terry would kill him if he knew how much water he was wasting. He would kill him even more if he knew what he was doing.

* * *

 

The first time he gets fucked it’s by a guy named Austin. It isn’t too special. Just some guy Iggy knows who Mickey was supposed to pick up some weed from. Sure, he actually gets fucked in a bed instead of behind some warehouse but it’s not like it leaves him begging for more from the guy. It’s convenient and he gets off and that’s all that matters. He kind of wishes they took it slower, because he feels it the next day. He didn’t want to be a bitch about it and ask him to go easy on him, but his lower body aches terribly.

Mickey’s body jerks when Austin places sloppy kisses along his spine while they fuck. Austin mistakes it for pleasure, teasing “you like that, baby?” in his ear which has Mickey rolling his eyes. Mickey can feel scratchy stubble scrape into his skin, and he tries his best to block it out and focus on the feeling of getting fucked. Austin’s dick rubs against a sensitive spot inside Mickey, which makes him shudder and moan. They come shortly after, Austin collapsing on top of him and wrapping his arms around Mickey’s waist. He passes out with Mickey locked in his embrace like he’s some fucking teddy bear.

Mickey remembers when his mom used to hold him. He’d lay his head on her chest, and fall asleep even on the worst night. He tries to pretend that this is that, but he just feels trapped and suffocated by the dead weight of Austin’s body. Worming his way out from under Austin, he swiftly puts on his clothes and grabs what he initially came for. His legs feel like jelly walking down the side walk, which he tries to conceal with his signature swagger.  

The next day, Mickey winces when he tries to move. He feigns illness to avoid going on a run for beer and cigarettes, preferring to spend the day resting in bed. The ache makes him wonder whether he’ll ever do this again. If it’s worth it. He definitely wants to do it again, and at least he now knows someone down for it. He’ll tell Iggy that he’ll pick up from Austin from now on. He’ll say it’s so Iggy can pick up from other dealers more efficiently or some shit. Save time.

The sky is getting darker when Mickey finally has the energy to move. He showers quickly, massaging himself with his fingers again. After changing into clothes he picks up off the floor, he decides to get something to eat from the gas station. A slice of pizza and a soda is usually enough to satisfy him. Walking down the street he sees Austin at the corner picking up some chick in a tight red dress. They make out and he clings to her like he clung to Mickey. “Fuck” Mickey says under his breath, and he resolves to find someone else.

When he gets home he doesn’t cry or lock himself up in his bedroom. Instantly his mind sorts through names and faces trying to narrow down who could be down and who could hurt him if he propositioned, forgetting all about clingy Austin. In the back of his mind and in the pit of his stomach he feels unsettled by it all. Is this what life had in store from him now? A mental Rolodex of potential fuck buddies? Of course it is, and a part of him is okay with that. Another part of him foresees that this isn't going to last without any casualties. 


End file.
